Groundhog Day
by oneship
Summary: Crack!fic warning: This is *NOT* a serious story. The angst is overwritten, the plot is over the top, and the chapter 2 ending was an April Fool's Day prank pulled on another PC forum. (I almost received death threats from it, so be warned!) If you'd like to avoid the prank ending, read chapter 1 and then chapter 3. :-) COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

The ship flew through space with the grace of an opalescent nudibranch tracking its prey. Everyone—except the losers on the gamma shift—so everyone who was anyone was sound asleep. The ship's engines thrummed a soothing undertone to the counterpoint of soft (and not so soft) snores emanating from the assorted crew quarters.

In one such cabin a distinguished bald man lay in repose, one arm thrown above his head, the other resting lightly on an ancient paper text. The silken sheets rose and fell as he inhaled, and a soft whisper escaped from his partially open mouth. He appeared to be deep in sleep when suddenly he sat bolt upright and tugged on the sheets with a grip sure to leave wrinkles.

Gazing blankly around the room, he muttered, "It's happened. I can feel it."

Later that morning, as he poured coffee for the breathtaking beauty devouring her third croissant, he marvelled at how he could still sense such a thing. She smiled and nodded her thanks as she ripped another chunk off the defenceless pastry and placed it between her ruby red lips. She paused to lick the crumbs from her upper lip and he forgot what he was contemplating (and what he was doing) until she jumped up and shouted, "Ow! Jean-Luc!"

He apologized profusely as he cleaned the worst of the mess. When the last traces of coffee were removed, and Beverly had treated the minor burns to her right thigh, they returned to their seats. Beverly leaned across the table, azure eyes glinting in the reflected ceiling lights, and said, "So what had you so distracted you felt the need to pour scalding coffee all over my lap?"

The tips of Jean-Luc's ears blushed pink as he desperately sought an answer that didn't involve pastries, sweat, moaning, silken thighs in the moonlight, whip cream, tongues, or—

 _Merde! What did she just say?_ He gulped and the blush crept up his neck, matching his crimson uniform top. She was staring at him, a slightly exasperated expression flittering across her porcelain features. He needed an answer, and he needed one fast.

"Groundhogs," he blurted.

She arched an elegant eyebrow. "Groundhogs?" She leaned back in her chair and studied him more carefully. "I have to admit that of all the things I thought you might mention, 'groundhogs' wasn't one of them."

"Yes, well, you see, today is Groundhog Day."

"Oh?" Beverly arched her other elegantly sculpted eyebrow. He wondered how she managed to arch both brows equally. Most people had a dominant eyebrow—one far more suited to arching—but Beverly appeared to be eyebrowbedexterous.

"Yes. On Earth it is customary to release a groundhog into a cleared area and observe it to see if it can find its shadow."

"Why?"

"It's a tradition. In ancient times, people would gather around the groundhog's burrow at mid-winter and wait for the charming rodent to emerge. It was said that if the groundhog saw his shadow six more weeks of winter would ensue."

Beverly tried not to laugh. "But if it's mid-winter, aren't there six more weeks until the equinox anyway?" She tapped her fingers on the glass table. "What does a rodent's shadow have to do with something everyone already knows? And why have a day to celebrate it?"

Jean-Luc was miffed. He came from a proud line of groundhog breeders. Of course, groundhogs were a nightmare when they nested among the vines in the vineyard, their burrows tearing through roots and disturbing the precious soil. He and Robert had spent many a spring disposing of the pesky critters—Robert had been particularly creative in his approach to extermination, including resorting to using plastic explosives to remove a stubborn (and far too intelligent) groundhog from the chardonnay grapes. He often wondered why his family engaged in two mutually exclusive trades, and while he was entitled to speculate, his breakfast companion had no business mocking his family heritage.

"I'll have you know, Picard groundhogs are sought after the world over for their ability to discern the imminent arrival of an early spring."

"Picard groundhogs?"

Jean-Luc harrumphed and tugged on his uniform top. "Yes. My family has been breeding them for generations. Wyerton Willie the sixth was famous for his perfect record. He correctly forecast the arrival of spring in each of his eight winters." He smiled proudly. "That can only come from breeding."

"I imagine so," Beverly replied, desperate to keep a straight face. "So today is an important day for you?"

He leaned forward and feasted upon her beauty as he replied, "Today is an important day for every human."

"What about the ones in Australia? Isn't it mid-summer there?" she asked, baiting him.

"Fine, it's an important day for all humans living in the northern hemisphere."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, mysteriously.

"Doctor, where are we going?" Picard asked as he followed his swiftly moving CMO down the corridor.

"You'll see," she replied enigmatically.

They came to a stop outside the entrance to holodeck two. Beverly checked the panel and was satisfied the program was running to her specifications. She turned to Jean-Luc and gestured for him to lead the way—she loved looking at his ass.

The doors opened with a loud sigh and hiss. Beverly tried to suppress a grin as she watched Jean-Luc start in surprise at the scene before him. Before he wandered too far in, she said, "Here, you'll want one of these."

He squinted into the pre-dawn light at the bulky object in her hands. She pressed it against his chest, forcing him to take it. She started to shiver and wanted to get her own parka on as soon as possible.

Once they were sensibly attired, they walked side-by-side along the forest track. Beverly marvelled at the squeak and crunch of the snow under their boots, and the soft sloughing from the branches on either side. The air was sharp in her lungs, the smell of turpentine from the pines mingling with the scent of leather and wool from the parka.

"Beverly, what is this?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

She replied in an equally awed tone, "I felt bad for teasing you this morning, so I did some research."

"Research?"

She realized her nod was entirely engulfed by her hood and said, "Yes. We're going to participate in an authentic Groundhog Day ceremony."

"Beverly, you didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." She turned her soul-melting smile on him. "This is important to you; therefore it is important to me. I'm always interested in what makes the illustrious Captain Picard tick."

She would have said more (not about the thoughts of backing him up against a tree and taking him under the falling snow), but they entered the clearing before she could return her thoughts to a more platonic level. Wandering through the soft hillocks of white, in various levels of boredom, was the rest of the senior crew.

Will and Deanna were chatting, hoods practically touching, under a large spruce tree. Data seemed to be looking for tracks in the snow, quirking his head this way and that as he stared at the ground beneath his feet. Geordi stood next to a dark scar in the earth, rubbing his mittens and stamping his feet. Worf stood, arms crossed, with his back against a large tree, scowling.

She led the way to the mound beside Geordi. As she and her bald Adonis, _Bad Beverly! Focus on the task at hand!_ approached, the rest of the crew drew near. Soon they were all standing around what was obviously an entry into a burrow of some sort. Through an unspoken accord, they remained silent during the vigil. That is, until Worf's bass rumbled through the clearing.

"The creature will emerge with the sunrise?"

"Yes," Beverly replied.

"Is there anything we should be aware of?" he asked. "Poisonous spikes, venomous fangs, electrically charged tail?"

Beverly thought she heard Jean-Luc snort.

"No, groundhogs are rodents, similar in size to a large cat. They have sharp claws for digging, but no other natural armaments." Worf looked disappointed.

"They have sharp teeth," Picard added. "They can pierce a thick leather glove with a single snap of their jaws." Worf's enthusiasm returned with Jean-Luc's statement. She couldn't help but wonder, since he was surreptitiously rubbing his wrist, if he was speaking from experience. She made a note to check his childhood medical records.

"What does the victor earn?" asked Worf, the glint of excitement visible in his eyes.

"What victor?" Beverly asked.

"The warrior who catches the beast must surely win something," he replied.

Beverly suppressed a giggle as the image of the crew scampering around the clearing trying to catch a groundhog flittered through her mind. "We aren't here to catch it."

Worf looked puzzled so she elaborated. "We're waiting for it to leave its burrow."

"Yes, and once it leaves, we will subdue it."

"No, we will watch it."

Worf flexed his fingers in disbelief. "Watch it? Watch it do what?"

"We will watch to see if it notes its shadow."

"Ah." Understanding washed across his dark features. "Is the shadow the key then? We cannot attack until it marks its place?"

Deanna snickered and Beverly felt Jean-Luc stiffen in response. "No," she replied, determined to keep her voice even. "We will watch the groundhog until it returns to its burrow. We will note the sighting of its shadow, or not, and then we will leave."

"That's it?" Worf asked, incredulous. "We're just going to stand here?"

"Well," Beverly added, "it is traditional to celebrate if the groundhog fails to spy its shadow."

"Celebrate? How?"

Beverly wracked her brain for the information. She'd focused mainly on the event itself, only glancing at the mention of subsequent festivities. She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by Jean-Luc.

"Mulled wine," he said. "Mother always served mulled wine to celebrate the coming of spring."

Worf appeared somewhat mollified. "And what if the beast sees its shadow? What then?"

"Then we drink mulled wine and lament the continuation of winter," replied Jean-Luc.

"This is a drinking festival! Why didn't you say so?"

Beverly smiled. The group lapsed into silence again as the sun crept over the treetops, sparking the crystals and turning the snow a burnished orange. As the light rose in the sky, the seven friends, and their surroundings, took sharper form.

Without warning, a furry head emerged from the hole at their feet. It raised its nose to the sky, whiskers twitching, and took a few hesitant steps away from its burrow. No one dared to breathe lest the sound of air passing through their nasal hairs startle the beast and send it scurrying for cover.

Just as sentient slugs and amorphous beings of golden light and green mist seemed to be attracted to her, the groundhog demonstrated an instant bond with the captain. Whiskers twitching madly, it shuffled toward Jean-Luc like a magnet to lodestone, stopping a scant foot from his toes. He slowly lowered himself, moving like molten silk despite his bulky parka, until his knees were almost level with his eyes.

The groundhog paused in its investigation of the soil and ice under its claws and stood on its hind legs; its liquid brown eyes matching the wisdom in the hazel pair it seemed so drawn to. Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to look around the clearing, constantly checking to ensure his every glance was noted by those in attendance.

As the sun crept higher, the groundhog's shadow shifted from a faint blue outline to a deep purple. Not once did it let its gaze fall on the silhouette. The groundhog returned its attention to the man in front of it, tilted its head to one side, and then—to Beverly's utter amazement—it winked. With a flick of its tail, and without a backward glance, the ungainly rodent darted for its burrow and was gone.

Deanna stifled a sob as she clung to Riker's arm. "I could feel it," she whispered. "The connection, it was so pure, so spiritual."

Jean-Luc coughed self-consciously. His telepathic bond with groundhogs—even holographic ones, he was pleased to note—was something he envisioned sharing only with his wife and children. He wasn't sure he appreciated the counsellor announcing it in such a way. The link he shared was sacred, special, and deeply personal. It was something he fantasized telling Beverly after making love to her for the first time—if ever that might happen.

His heart thrilled to know she knew about his gift, but he couldn't shake the mild resentment of the way the information was shared. _The after-glow of toe-curling sex would have been a far superior time_. Still, the woman who could make his artificial heart skip, and his loins burn, was now privy to his greatest secret; that thought alone gave his soul wings.

"This... experience," Worf rumbled, "was more... moving... than I expected given the doctor's clinical explanation." Jean-Luc met the Klingon's steady gaze. "It is said that Kahless could charm targ pups from their litter with no more than a simple glance. After witnessing this ceremony, I am inclined to believe there is truth behind the myth."

Jean-Luc was relieved that someone understood the sacredness of the moment. He turned to the one person whose opinion and support mattered the most, but was stopped by the sudden appearance of Geordi, his face inches away from the fringe of his hood. "Well done, Captain!" Geordi beamed. "I suggest we make a ship-wide announcement regarding the imminent arrival of spring." He failed to notice Jean-Luc's lack of jocular response. "I'll see if I can't get the computer to sprout a few crocuses in the corridors in celebration."

"Snowdrops."

Jean-Luc was glad for the interruption. Geordi's lack of understanding of such a profound moment was testing his patience. Turning to the speaker, he was shocked by the intensity of emotions playing across Beverly's face.

"Sorry, Doc?" Geordi asked, grinning.

"Snowdrops," Beverly replied; her hands balled into fists at her side. "The first flower of spring is the _snowdrop_."

"Uh, okay, Doc. If you say so." Geordi backed away uncertainly. He turned to Data and said, "Snowdrops it is then. Let's go see what we can do."

With that, the spell of the moment was well and truly shattered and the seven senior officers made their way back toward the arch and the warmth of the ship. Jean-Luc fell into step with Beverly and was startled to discover she was muttering under her breath in Klingon. He strained to make out her words and was horrified to realize that if anyone could cause a body to sprout appendages where none belonged, and contort itself in such a highly unpleasant way, it was her. He didn't know what was so important about a tiny white flower, but he hoped Geordi's next physical was a long way off.

The crew had adjourned to Ten Forward to enjoy several toasts of mulled wine as they waited for their feet to thaw. Beverly was somewhat mollified to discover that Geordi and Data had decorated every available surface with snowdrops. She knew Geordi was trying to make amends, but she was glad for his sake that his next physical wasn't for another nine months.

She absently ran her fingers along a slender blossom as her brow furrowed in thought. She had no idea how important this groundhog myth was to Jean-Luc. The strength of his conviction, and his telepathic bond with the rodents, shocked and disturbed her. She wasn't upset that he had a deeply held personal belief—she was glad to learn that about him—she was worried that it was incompatible with her own.

How could she possibly consider a relationship with a man who believed rodents foretold the coming of spring? She thought of Nana and her ancient teachings. No, there was no way she could turn away from her own heritage. Not for anyone. Not even for Jean-Luc.

 _But, there was his ass—_

 _No!_ A tempting as that part of his anatomy was, she could not forsake her cultural heritage for it, and the realization threatened to bring tears to her eyes. There was nothing more for them. They could not have a future.

The aroma of mulled wine wound its way through her troubled thoughts and pulled her back to the ship. She lifted her gaze from the tiny flower and felt her soul melt under the caress of his hazel eyes. He handed her a steaming mug of wine and lowered his hand to touch the flowers on the table.

"Such fragile beauty," he murmured, his voice felt more than heard.

"Yes." She stifled a gasp when his fingers touched hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Why? Why did fate have to be so cruel? Blinking back the stinging tears that threatened to betray her, she looked away. She had to be strong.

"Penny."

Beverly smiled bitterly at the intimate gesture. She hadn't fooled him. She squared her shoulders, took a steadying breath, and said the inevitable. There was no point beating about the bush and delaying things. She smiled wanly at him and said, "Jean-Luc, I'm leaving."

His eyes widened in shock. "If you're tired of the social, I would be glad to walk you back to your quarters."

"No," she shook her head, "I'm not leaving Ten Forward." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, hoping he would feel the love that remained despite her next words. "I'm leaving the _Enterprise_. Starfleet."

His hand went cold in her grasp and she could see him struggling to process her words. She couldn't let him suffer. "I'm resigning my commission and returning to my ancestral home on Caldos."

"Beverly, what—"

"I'm sorry, Jean-Luc." The tears were seconds away from betraying her calm demeanour, she had to leave. "I have to. I can't stay."

"Beverly—"

She turned and fled before he could see the burning trails of anguish trickling down her cheeks. It was too much. She needed to move, she needed air. Tossing her communicator into a nearby potted plant, Beverly headed for the one place on the ship where she knew she could be alone.

Beverly sat with chin on her knees, staring out the small viewport on the far side of the tunnel. She had no idea who decided this rarely-used Jeffries tube in the starboard stardrive section needed a window, but she was glad they had.

She smiled fondly as she recalled Wesley showing her this spot toward the end of their first year on board. She had been nagging him to share more of his life with her, so he decided to take her on a tour of his favourite haunts. She had no idea half the locations he dragged her to even existed, and she was sure not a few of them should have been off-limits to an acting ensign, but she'd crawled through tunnel after tunnel, listening to him prattle on about anything and everything that came to mind.

He timed their arrival to this spot perfectly—could Wes do anything less?—and got her sit in the exact same spot as she was now, telling her to look out the viewport. The view was all right, almost as good as Ten Forward in terms of an unobstructed starfield (she could make out the edge of the saucer her she craned her neck), but it didn't seem to warrant her son's expression of awed wonder.

"Wes?" she'd asked.

"Wait for it," he replied, sounding at that moment so much like his father.

Within seconds, the vibration underfoot changed as the ship made the jump into warp. The starfield exploded into a shimmering rainbow the likes of which she'd never seen before or since. She'd seen holos of various atmospheric phenomena, and nothing compared to the display through this tiny portal.

She gasped, and tearing her gaze away, she turned to him. "What? How?"

He smiled, his expression matching the wonder on hers. "It has to do with the harmonics of the deflector dish, the shields, and the field created by the nacelle. This is the only place on the entire ship it's visible too."

Trust her son to find it, learn the science behind it, and find it more beautiful for understanding it.

She sighed.

What was Wes doing now? She placed her hands on the decking in preparation for moving out of the spot and heading back to her quarters. She had memos to write and luggage to pack. She turned and was startled by the sudden materialization of a small pot of snowdrops less than a foot away.

As she watched, another pot appeared beside the first. Then another. Within a minute the entire floor to her left was covered in pots of snowdrops. Unless she wanted to crush the fragile plants, that way was blocked. She turned to her right and was about to head that way when three feet beyond her more pots started appearing.

"What the hell is going on here?" she muttered, wondering if Geordi's plan to make snowdrops sprout throughout the ship had gone haywire. She retreated to her original spot by the viewport and leaned against the bulkhead to think. She'd left her communicator on deck ten so she couldn't beam out. She'd have to move each plant and create a small path out—it would take her hours, but she couldn't bring herself to crush the small white blossoms that signified so much.

The whine of the transporter brought her attention to her right again. Something large was beaming into the empty space beside her. She hoped it wasn't a giant man-eating snowdrop, but knowing how things tended to go on this ship, she wouldn't have been surprised if one had appeared.

Instead, she was presented with the stern face of the ship's captain. One look into his eyes and she was wishing for the plant. He'd been crouching when he beamed in, obviously aware of the height restrictions in the tunnel, and as soon as he was fully there, he sat back, mimicking her posture against the bulkhead. He didn't say a word.

His silence was palpable. Even if he hadn't blocked both exits with thousands of flowers, she knew there was no way she could leave. He held her as surely as if he held her in his arms.

The thought of being in his arms brought the sting of fresh tears to her eyes. As if sensing her weakness, he kept his gaze on the viewport as he whispered, "Why?"

The anguish in the single word shattered every wall she'd built around her heart. She was hurting him. She desperately wanted to avoid hurting him—hell, that was why she was giving up everything she loved—and yet, here he was, suffering because of her.

"You don't understand—" she tried to explain, but he cut her off with a look so piercing she felt the impact.

"No, Beverly, I don't understand." He took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. "I want to, I _need_ to understand this decision." His eyes searched her face, and she flushed under the intense scrutiny. "It has to do with these," he gestured at the flowers, "doesn't it?"

Surprised he'd made the connection, she could only nod.

He let a small smile tug the corners of his lips up as he spoke. "I did a little research of my own," he said. His smile turned to a scowl. "I needed to keep my mind occupied while I was waiting for the results of tasking half the ship with finding you."

She touched his arm. "Jean-Luc, I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Beverly, I had to assign Deanna to the helm!"

She groaned. She had no idea her abrupt announcement and departure had worried him so much. That gesture alone proved the depth of his feelings for her.

"I'm sorry." It sounded weak, even to her ears.

"I don't want an apology," he replied, taking her hand in his and squeezing. "I want answers. Not as your captain, but as your friend." She gazed into his hazel eyes and saw his love for her laid bare. "Please."

She closed her eyes. The words were on the tip of her tongue and they fell awkwardly as she stumbled over the tumult of thoughts fighting to be shared. Within a few moments her incoherent rambling took on a firmer structure. "The snowdrop is a very powerful symbol, one of the sacred symbols of my Celtic heritage." He nodded. "What did you learn when you did your research?"

He inhaled sharply. "Well, I learned that the flower is associated with the coming of spring. It is believed to symbolize the young goddess Brighid's victory over the Cailleach."

She nodded, impressed. "There's more to it. The legend tells of how the Cailleach magically imprisoned Brighid high in the mountains, carpeting the world in perpetual winter. Eventually people forgot what a world without snow and ice was like. It wasn't until the Cailleach's son, madly in love with Brighid and willing to risk his mother's immortal wrath, helped her escape that spring returned to the land.

"No matter how hard the witch chased the young couple, she could not keep her hold on the land. Everywhere Brighid stepped, tiny snowdrops appeared. Finally, exhausted from the chase, the Cailleach stopped to rest against a boulder. The land, angry at its harsh treatment, sought its own revenge and absorbed her into the rock."

She watched his face for understanding. He looked mildly entertained, but hadn't caught the main message. "The snowdrop is the symbol of Brighid's escape and her return among us." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "It is also a symbol of the conquering power of love."

He reached over and brought one of the pots into his lap. She watched as he examined the slender green stalk and the brilliant flower at the summit. "It's hard to believe that anything could sprout under the crush of snow and ice, let alone something as seemingly fragile as this blossom."

"But—"

"But," he added, "like true love, it has an inner strength more powerful than any other living thing. And like love," he turned his eyes to her, "it makes everything pale in comparison to the beauty of the object of the heart's desire."

She was speechless. He understood.

Jean-Luc stared at the woman beside him and fought the urge to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and she was snivelling, but she was still breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and soothe her hurt away.

And judging by the way she was looking at him, he realized she wanted the same thing. He shifted his body on the deck to more easily facilitate the anticipated change in position and reached for her.

Like a green army man under a magnifying glass, she melted toward his arms, her face a bittersweet mixture of tears and smiles. His arms ached to close around her; his fingers twitched with the desire to run across her back, kneading and caressing away her stress and tension. He watched her approach with the awe and reverence he reserved for the birth of binary star clusters.

She was falling. Beverly knew she was tumbling down the one path she'd fought so hard to avoid. Like a planetoid and a certain counsellor's piloting skills, her body was on a collision course with his, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. His face held such love. Their souls had been joined for years though they'd both resisted the pull. But, like a Dalek sighting a Timelord, she was irresistibly drawn to his sonic screwdriver.

His eyes—such poetic eyes—were mere inches from her face. She shivered as the warmth from his encroaching arms oozed like honey through her thin uniform top. She held her breath, waiting for the moment when their bodies touched. She knew with absolute certainty that when she pulled away from this embrace it would not be an attempt to return to being just friends. _It'll probably be to rip his tunic off his sculpted shoulders_ , she mused.

Time slithered forward at the pace of single-cell amoeba with motility issues as Jean-Luc waited for Beverly to mould herself into his embrace. His hands were nanometres from her blue uniform when her eyes widened in shock. The colour drained from her face as she let out a tiny gasp. He stared in horror as she squeezed her eyes shut and propelled herself backwards with the strength of an Olympic diver leaping from the platform.

"No!" she cried. "No!"


	2. Chapter 2

Jean-Luc was dumbfounded as she beat her fists against her knees in impotent rage. _What the devil is wrong now?_ he wondered. She shook her head, arguing with a voice he couldn't hear. He sagged against the bulkhead, defeat creeping into his heart. They'd been so close. How could he have let himself believe she wanted him; wanted more than coffee and croissants? He was a fool.

Beverly opened her eyes and her soul shattered. The pain and confusion on Jean-Luc's face tore through her heart, making the slightest breath burn like Will's Twelve Alarm Texas Roast Sauce. Unable to bear it, she crawled toward him and placed her hands on his thighs; forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Jean-Luc, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

 _Shit_. He was too old, too bald. It wasn't fair. He was in better shape than men half his age – he certainly hadn't porked out like a First Officer he knew. Even Data, in his quest to be more human, was showing signs of portliness. And the baldness? Well, she'd have to suck it up. He was _**not**_ going to be one of those starship captains who wore cheap rugs in an effort to look young and verile.

"Beverly—"

"It's about Jack."

He froze. Jack? Still? He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"I know I should have told you years ago, but I didn't know if it would work, and then you left, and we didn't keep in touch, and then the time never seemed right—" the words spewed forth like corn vomit from her lips. She took a deep breath. "Jack didn't die on that mission."

"Beverly, I was there. I held his body."

"No, you held his _host_ " Her eyes took on a faraway cast. "Jack was—is—a Trill."

She could have whipped out a six-foot plush penis and declared it to be art, and he would have been less surprised.

"When you brought Jack's body—the host's body—back, you also brought all of his personal effects. Carter gave you a box. Do you remember?"

Jean-Luc struggled to find his voice. "He said it was something very special for you. That Jack insisted you receive immediately upon his death."

"It was." She squeezed his hand. "You brought Jack home to me. Carter put Jack in stasis, knowing I would find him a suitable host."

The deck beneath Jean-Luc shifted alarmingly. _Please do not let her say what I think she's going to say_ , he prayed. "And?"

"And the shock of almost losing him was too much. I couldn't bear to be separated from him again; always worrying and wondering if he was safe." She pulled his hand and pressed it against her abdomen. "So I became his host."

Jean-Luc swallowed the acrid bile that spurted from his throat. He wrenched his hand away, but not before he felt _movement_ beneath her skin. Shuddering like an automobile being driven by a teenager with no experience with a standard transmission, Jean-Luc recoiled in horror.

"Jack and I are still married."

He was going to be ill.

"We decided that since Starfleet declared him dead, we'd keep the arrangement our little secret."

He eyed one of the potted plants, contemplating the utility of the pot as a receptacle.

"We didn't think we were hurting anyone. It wasn't until we decided to join the crew of the _Enterprise_ that things got awkward."

She cocked her head to one side, listening to what he now knew was the voice of his best friend. He broke out in a cold sweat and tried to calculate how long it would take to rip the snowdrop out of the pot.

"But, you... me... us?"

She smiled ruefully. "I'm so sorry about that. You and Jack were very close, and he longed for the friendship you once shared. Unfortunately, now that he's in a female host, those feelings manifested in a sizzling sexual attraction."

He wasn't going to be ill. He was going to pass out. _This can't be happening._

"Jack and I were content to share you," she added, mistaking his pained expression for disappointment. "Really, we were. He was fine with my enjoying your body because he had the connection to your soul."

 _Make it stop._

"It wasn't until Geordi filled Ten Forward with snowdrops that I realized pursuing a sexual relationship with you was an act of betrayal." She picked up a pot and caressed the tiny flower. "You remember, don't you? These were our wedding flowers. You wore one on you dress uniform."

 _Where the hell is a Cardassian gaoler when you need one?_ Celtris III and its four lights was a honeymoon compared to sitting in a Jeffries tube with the slug brain of his dead best friend writhing inside the woman he loved. He dumped the plant and soil onto the deck and proceeded to empty his stomach.

"Now that you know that Jack is alive, we need to leave. If Starfleet were to find out, we'd be court-martialed for desertion." She gently wiped his face with a cloth she got from who knew where.

 _Jack probably handed it to her_ , he thought bitterly.

"So, we're going to move back to my home on Caldos."

He nodded.

" _Data to Picard."_

"Picard here," he replied, relieved to have his attention drawn away from the nightmare in front of him.

" _Sir, the requisite forty-five minutes has elapsed. Would you like me to beam you both back now?"_

Jean-Luc wanted, more than anything, to be beamed into the vacuum of space where his blood would instantly boil, causing his head and eyes to explode, ending all thoughts of Jack the Trill. Instead, he replied, "Yes, , now would be fine."

He looked over at the Crushers and said, "I will see to it that your resignation is processed as quickly as possible. We will drop you off at the nearest starbase, which should give you several travel options for journeying to Caldos."

" _Ready when you are, sir."_

"One moment, Data." Picard closed the channel. "There's something I need to know. Odan?"

Beverly smiled. "A previous mate."

 _Ah_.

"And Ronin?"

Beverly paled slightly and gripped her stomach. "Don't mention him. We owe you a huge debt of gratitude. If you hadn't come after me, Ronin would have merged with me and killed Jack!"

 _Of course._

Who but the illustrious Jean-Luc Picard could run to rescue the love of his life and wind up saving her husband?

He signalled Data, and as the tingling of the transporter filled his body, a single thought flittered through his mind:

Worst. Groundhog. Day. Ever.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean-Luc was dumbfounded as she beat her fists against her knees in impotent rage. _What the devil is wrong now?_ he wondered. She shook her head, arguing with a voice he couldn't hear. He sagged against the bulkhead, defeat creeping into his heart. They'd been so close. How could he have let himself believe she wanted him; wanted more than coffee and croissants? He was a fool.

Beverly opened her eyes and her soul shattered. The pain and confusion on Jean-Luc's face tore through her heart, making the slightest breath burn like Will's Twelve Alarm Texas Roast Sauce. Unable to bear it, she crawled toward him and placed her hands on his thighs; forcing him to meet her gaze.

"It's the children I worry about. I cannot let Nana's teachings be forgotten," Beverly tried to explain through hiccoughing gulps of air.

 _Children?_ Jean-Luc thought. _What children?_ He shook his head. Surely she'd passed on the knowledge to young Wesley. "I don't understand," he replied as he placed his hands on her arms. He was a fool, and there was no way he could resist touching her – he might never get another opportunity.

"You believe the groundhog foretells the coming of spring, correct?"

"Yes."

"And your faith in that is unwavering?"

"Yes."

She chuckled bitterly. "And there lies the problem."

He must have looked like Geordi with a woman, because she smiled at his bewildered expression. He was completely lost.

Speaking as though to a very small child, she said, "If groundhogs predict the changing of the seasons; then there's no place for Brighid and her triumphant return." She sighed. "I just can't bear the thought of raising my children in a house devoid of my Celtic heritage." Her blue eyes sought his. "You see? This is why I have to leave."

Jean-Luc's brain flopped around like a beached cod. _She wants to have children with me._ He had no idea she'd ever considered that option.

Children? _She's leaving because she wants to have sex with me._

The realization sent electricity pulsing through his veins. _She thinks snowdrops and groundhogs are mutually exclusive_.

He tried to force his thoughts into some semblance of order. _Come on, Johnny, if you can get Cardassians and Romulans to back down from the brink of war, you can think of something that will allow rodents and plants to live happily ever after!_

He closed his eyes and thought.

 _Your sex life depends on it!_ He thought harder.

"I wish we could get past this," Beverly whispered, caressing his cheek. Her heart was a squishy mass in the bottom of her boots as she pressed her forehead against his one last time. "But, I can't—"

"The thaw!" he blurted, louder than either expected. Beverly drew away, but he grabbed her and pulled her close to his chest, almost crushing her in his desperation to make her understand.

"The thaw," he repeated. "Brighid's presence defeats the witch's power over the land, allowing the soil to warm, yes?"

Beverly nodded.

"Perfect!" He wrapped his arms more tightly around her. He almost laughed, he was so giddy with excitement. _Guess who's getting some tonight, Johnny-boy!_

"I—"

"There's a little-known fact about groundhogs. The reason they're so adept at predicting the arrival of spring is because they are sensitive to the subtlest changes in soil temperature." He paused for effect. "Groundhogs can smell Brighid's feet!"

Beverly's jaw dropped. The problem, the agony, the irreconcilable difference that threatened to destroy her soul vapourized like Parnellian Pond Scum under her laser scalpel. With a last bitter—yet slightly nutty—aftertaste, her nightmare dissolved under the breath mint of Jean-Luc's unwavering love.

Wordlessly, for they were beyond words, these two whose souls were so intricately entwined, she gripped his face in both hands and showered kisses across his grinning visage. He pulled her back, seeking her mouth with his, desperate to reap the reward of inspired thinking. He was about to make a bold move for the fastener on her uniform top when a though occurred to him.

"Merde," he panted.

Puzzled, Beverly pulled back far enough to stare quizzically at him. He grinned sheepishly and said, "I left Mr. Data manning the transporter. He's waiting for my signal to beam us out of here."

She grinned and tapped his communicator, opening a channel.

"Picard to Data," he spoke to the air above his head as he continued to run his hands along her spine.

" _Data here, sir. Were you successful? Shall I beam you two back?"_

"Not just yet, Data," Beverly interjected as she winked at Jean-Luc. "Set yourself a timer and come back for us in forty-five minutes." She grinned lasciviously at the man propped against the bulkhead, amending, "Actually, you better make that an hour and a half. The captain and I still have several _issues_ to explore."

" _Understood. Data out."_

"Now where were we?" Beverly purred in his ear as her slender fingers worked his tunic off his shoulders.

They made love surrounded by thousands of snowdrops, their subtle scent permeating every pore until Beverly had no idea where the flowers ended and she began. Afterward, in the glow of the warp nacelle's rainbow, Jean-Luc held the woman of his dreams in his arms and contentedly shared the history of his family's telepathic bond with groundhogs with her.

As they lazily caressed one another in a silence born of two souls becoming one, a single thought flittered through the air:

Best. Groundhog. Day. Ever.


End file.
